


You're Invited!

by wumbo_requiem



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, Disclaimer: Chickles is kind of in the background for a lot of this., Drinking, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, I will tag more of the families once they become more relevant., M/M, They will be important later so be warned!, Weddings, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:20:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27795259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wumbo_requiem/pseuds/wumbo_requiem
Summary: Pickles and Charles are getting married, and the Dethfamilies are coming, against everyone's wishes. Dreading having to explain to their prying mothers why they're still single, Skwisgaar and Nathan decide to show up as each other's dates.
Relationships: Charles Foster Offdensen/Pickles the Drummer, Nathan Explosion/Skwisgaar Skwigelf
Comments: 12
Kudos: 22





	You're Invited!

**Author's Note:**

  * For [little_murmaider](https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/gifts).



> For little_murmaider, who talked me into writing this and has been a huge support. Ily <3
> 
> Nategaar rights.

Jean-Pierre’s cooking tasted extra special that night. The mashed potatoes with butter melted in the mouth, the chicken thighs were more perfectly seasoned than they ever had been, and to top it all off, they’d brought out the champagne. Each course, accompanied with salad sides that the band more or less remembered to try, was devoured at Mach speed, and afterward Nathan sat rubbing his belly, pleasantly full. 

This dinner wasn’t just  _ any _ dinner. It was a celebration. There was a week left until the wedding, and with so much left to do, everyone was a little on edge. Therefore, a good old fashioned Mordhaus banquet was in order to take the edge off. And god _ damn _ , if that chef didn’t deliver.

“Hey. Where’s Jean-Pierre?” Nathan asked, swirling the last of his champagne around in the glass. “I gotta go  _ thank  _ him. Someone should give him a raise. Seriously this shit is  **_delicious_ ** .” Okay, so he must have been a little tipsy. A more sober Nathan wouldn’t have offered one of his employees extra cash. He hoped no one was gonna hold him to it. 

“I believe he went to get the desserts?” Charles said, voice soft and warm with affection. This affection wasn’t directed at who he was speaking to. See, Pickles was clinging to his arm, as he often did these days. He was a constant fixture at Charles’ side, like one of those shitty IKEA lamps he kept in his office. The corners of the drummer’s mouth lifted each time his fiancée spoke, and with his eyes closed, he looked content. God, they were so in love it sometimes made Nathan wanna hurl. But it was their special day soon, which gave them a pass.

“You’ve  _ really _ outdone yourschelf with the butlering, Charlesch,” Murderface said, punctuated with a belch as he wiped his face with his napkin. His plate was a mountain of wing and leg bones, not a vegetable in sight. 

Normally Charles would have clenched his jaw, narrowed his brows, maybe pinched the bridge of his nose. But he remained poised. 

“Murderface, I am not a butler, nor a chef. I can’t take any credit for this dinner.”

“You ams too humbles, Charles!” Toki piped up from beside the bassist. Over the course of the night, Toki had drank a little too much, and was starting to wobble in his seat. Nathan looked at Skwisgaar, who sat beside him and across from Toki, to gauge his reaction. Skwisgaar looked like he couldn’t care less, or didn’t notice. He was at ease and in moment, with good food and good champagne sitting in his belly. The Explorer sat propped up against the table beside him, untouched.

“Yeah!” Murderface said. “Too humble! Learn to take a compliment.”

“Will you knock that ahff?” Pickles said, annoyed, pouting over Charles’ shoulder. “We’re tryna enjoy this.” Charles smiled at that.

It was always ‘ _we’_ with them, too. That always stirred something in Nathan. Prodded at the locked box in his chest where he kept all of his trickier emotions, the ones that he couldn’t articulate. It couldn’t be jealousy, because he couldn’t even imagine himself in a relationship right now. He guessed he just felt left out. He was in a band, and in that way he had a family, but he wasn’t really part of a _we_ , was he? Not in the sense that they were- they had each other’s backs unconditionally. They were with each other for _always_.

“HhhhnnnnnnnNNN Hey so how are you guys doing with the uh. Wedding stuff?” He blurted. Everybody looked at him. He didn’t actually mean to get their attention; he only meant to interrupt the noisy thoughts in his head. It would seem he did both. 

To his relief, Pickles grinned, as if he was waiting for somebody to ask. “Oh, dood, I’m so glad you asked! I’m gettin’ so  **excited** !” He gave Charles’ arm a tight squeeze. “There’s so much shit we still gahtta get in order, of course- which reminds me-  _ you _ assholes gahtta tell us who yer bringin’ with ya! But fer the most part, we’re on track!”

“Mhm, and if I might add something,” Charles said once Pickles took a breath, pointing his index finger in the air. “We’re both really glad all four of you could make it. It means a lot.”

“It’sch not like we had anything better to do!” Murderface laughed and slapped his knee. “Believe me, if I did, I wouldn’t-”

“Wouldnt’s miss it fors de world, pals.” Skwisgaar said loudly, speaking over him. 

Nathan looked at him again. Skwisgaar sat back with one arm dangling off the back of the chair. His hair was pushed over one shoulder, exposing the other ear to Nathan. It was kind of pointy, a bit like an elf’s, and pink at the tip, but not as pink as it got when Skwisgaar got really cold. Like when he had gone to Sweden, and they’d found him in out the snow, all chilly but empowered, and hadn’t he had his hair in a ponytail? He never wore it like that anymore, and Nathan couldn’t fathom  _ why _ , because it had really suited him and oh god Skwisgaar was staring at him.

Nathan looked away, feeling too hot. Apparently the conversation was still going on around him. 

“Well, theenks guys,” Pickles said. “I know you guys aren’t used ta bein’ at formal events, but I swear you guys are gonna  _ love _ the-”

“-CAKE!” The word erupted from the other side of the table, and Nathan looked back to see what had prompted it.

A metal cart emerged through the double doors, wheeled in by two hoods. On it was a range of deserts- from fluffy slices of vanilla cake thick with buttercream icing, to beautiful braided pastries exploding with fruit filling, and just about everything in between. Nathan’s stomach overtook his brain and his heart, and so did everyone else’s, evident in the way they all scrambled to load their plates. It would have probably been polite to let Charles and Pickles get theirs first, but that occurred to no one. 

Nathan was content to not have to talk anymore. It was easy to forget the incident of awkward eye contact when he was shoveling pie into his mouth. Movement from across the table caught his eye. Toki was struggling with the whipped cream. Before Nathan could tell him to point it the other way, the poor guitarist’s face was covered in white. Everyone laughed as he scooped the sugary goop off his moustache and ate it.

Except for Charles, who froze up, forkful of crème brûlée halfway raised to his lips, looking like he’d just realized he left the faucet running. Once the laughter died, he put his fork down and spoke up.

“Ah, sorry to interrupt the fun, boys, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” Pickles seemed to tense beside him too, the smile wiped off his face. Something was wrong- Charles’ stutter hadn’t been present all night, but now it was back. Nathan swallowed a bite of crust dipped in syrup-y blueberry filling uneasily. 

“What?” He asked.

Charles looked at Pickles, who gave a short nod, before addressing the whole band. “Well. There have been some, ah, alterations to the guest list, and-”

“Like that hasch anything to do with usch! We schaid we’re coming, we’re in the clear.”

“Murderface, if you’d please just listen-” Charles said.

“Oh, guest lists, shmest-liststs!” Toki spat. “You aint’s lets me invites any of my friends! They’s all on the no-invites-lists! I can’ts invites Rockzo, or Magnus! Ams  _ bullshits _ !” Everybody stared at him. 

“ _ Toki _ ,” Nathan warned, fixing him with a look. “We’ve been over this.”

“Pfft! You knows very wells why you can’ts invites nobodies!” Skwisgaar said, sticking his chin out. “All yous friends ams weirdos jackoffs whats nobody likes! Criminals, evens!” 

Murderface steepled his fingers under his chin. “Wait. Skwischgaar,  _ you _ ’re Toki’sch friend. Scho doeschn’t that, by your own definition, make  _ you _ a-”

“ **Would you guys please just fuckin’** ** _shut up_** **_for a minute_** **? Charles was trying to SPEAK!** ” The high pitched voice rose above the conversation, and everyone’s face grew somber, turning their attention back to the couple at the head of the table. Pickles’ fingers massaged his temples. “I’m sahrry fer yelling. Darlin’, please continue.”

The manager awkwardly cleared his throat, then sighed. It wasn’t often that he stalled for time before he spoke. His speech was usually a quick and blunt delivery, sparing no feelings and revealing none of his own. Something was so clearly off about this. Nathan’s intuition prickled on his skin like static. 

“Alright, listen boys. We didn’t plan for this. But, your parents- and grandparents- called. And, well, they’re coming. Whether we ah, like it or not. The only family who was  _ supposed _ to come had been mine and Pickles of course, but word got out, and well, they made it  _ very clear _ they would sue if we didn’t let them come. Now, since they’re your family, we can’t ah,  _ deal with them _ in the way we typically would. So. They’re coming. To the wedding. In a week.”

The hall was quiet, soaked in disbelief. The only sound was the metal clang of Toki dropping his fork.

And then, chaos.

Food was being thrown- it wasn’t clear to Nathan who was doing it, because it seemed to fly in every direction. He was vaguely aware of a growl-turned-yell coming out of his mouth. His fists hurt from him smacking them on the table. He observed the spectacle around him: Murderface arguing loudly that it wasn’t fair (it wasn’t), Skwisgaar hunched over looking like he was going to puke, and Toki going completely catatonic. Nobody had been ready for this.

Except for Charles, who was ready for everything. He looked extremely calm- most likely he’d expected this sort of reaction. After the noise got down to a simmer and the cake got put down, he spoke, letting Pickles wipe some stray cake off his suit. The drummer was the only other one who’d remained relatively calm. 

“Thanks hon--. Gentlemen. We are just as unamused by this as you are. But we're determined to make this work. This is, after all, supposed to be the, ah, happiest day of our lives, and all that. We'll do everything we can to make that happen- including making you boys as comfortable as possible. Even with this new ah, unfortunate development."

Once he had finished his spiel, no one had the energy to argue him. The four band members collectively decided to leave the table, all sulking as they left for their own corners of the Haus. The only sound was the scraping of chairs, which was grating and made things worse.

Nathan didn't know about the other guys, and frankly didn’t care, but he was going to bed. He stomped off to his room without looking back. The plan was to sleep off all this food, and then when he woke up in the morning, it would all have been a bad dream. No mothers or fathers or grandfolks coming over to ruin the day; no tears and no disappointment. 

  
  
  


His bed was uncomfortable. When he peeled off all his clothes, save for his boxers, he was still hot. When he tossed, he turned. And when he counted sheep, he lost track and got frustrated, to the point where he imagined punching them in their little snouts. The realization hit him when he'd been laying on his back and staring at the ceiling for about an hour: the bed wasn't uncomfortable. He was. 

It was this stupid wedding thing. He didn't even want to  _ go _ anymore. The whole thing was ruined. Well. Maybe having his dad around wouldn't be so bad. His dad kind of fucking ruled. But his _ mom _ \- his mom was the dealbreaker.

Rose Explosion cared about her son. A lot. Sometimes when a parent cares too much they smother their child in their own expectations. Rose was no exception. When she called, she always wanted to know  **everything** . Particularly, if Nathan had "found someone yet". Nathan's largely nonexistent lovelife was her main concern, made apparent by many phone calls that ended in fights and early hang-ups. (That he would apologize for the next day, naturally.) 

His answer was always vague at best and disappointing at worst. A “well, I tried dating this one girl, and it didn't go too well" would earn him a sigh and a sympathetic "aw, baby, don't give up" followed by some unsolicited advice. And an "uhhhh I'm not really looking for anyone right now, mom, seriously" assured him a lecture on how he just hasn't found The One, and that he would in time. Hello, mom, what if he didn't want to? Was she even listening?

The sheets tightened as Nathan flexed his grip, then relaxed when he let go, and the entire bed creaked as he thrusted himself off of it. That was about as much as he could take of this mother stuff. It was time to get a drink. The time on his nightstand read 2:12 am- and he'd had a weird feeling it would be those exact numbers, in that order, as he often did. The late time didn't discourage him though. Rather, it made the idea seem all the better. He would likely be alone. Who else would be up at this hour? He could probably break into the tequila without getting caught. 

With that in mind, he put on his robe and snuck into the kitchen. The fridge was too bright and too loud and too cold when he stuck his face in, squinting at his options. He would work his way up to the stronger stuff- he was probably gonna be here a while. As his hand closed around a bottle of beer, he heard a noise. A bottle clinking off other bottles, the pantry door hitting off something solid, and feet stumbling backwards.

"I wasn't touching the tequila!" He blurted, letting the fridge close as he spun around. He let out a breath when he saw Skwisgaar hunched over, a full thing of Vodka in one hand and his forehead cradled in the other.

"Oh, shit are you alright?" Nathan asked, rushing over. As quickly as one could rush in slippers. 

"Ja!" Skwisgaar unfolded himself to his full height, wincing. "Ja, just hits my head a littles. Wills be fine in a minutes!" He started to turn around. 

Nathan grabbed his wrist, scared words might fail him before he could think of what to stay to keep him there. He could fit all of his fingers around Skwisggaar’s arm, like he was holding a thin branch. He eased his grip so it didn't hurt him. 

"Hey. Where are you going? Sneaking out into the night with a full bottle of Vodka, like some kind of sad drunk?" He jokingly accused. 

Skwisgaar looked him up and down. "Looks like you was abouts to does de same t'ings, pal." He pointed at the beer bottle in Nathan's hand. Damn, he was right. That was kind of sad, actually. 

"Maybe I was!" For a few moments all there was was the hum of the furnace and the usual moans and groans of a house come alive at night. Nathan let go of Skwisgaar finally. "I don't. Uh. Wanna do that anymore, though. So." 

Skwisgaar nodded, knowing. "Sos," he echoed softly. 

They drank in solidarity. After chugging back the bottle, Nathan wiped off his mouth with his sleeve. Skwisgaar slowed down- thank god, because he was drinking _straight_ _ Vodka _ \- and, nose all scrunched up, screwed the cap back on. Yeah no, that was definitely too much all at once. 

"Okay, maybe take it easy Skwisgaar." Nathan wrestled the bottle from him without much effort and held it behind his back. The warmth of the alcohol was starting to set in. 

Skwisgaar slumped forward and Nathan caught him in his arms, dropping the bottle in the process. Luckily it didn't shatter. 

"Woah- dude." And then the tears began to fall, in a pitiful cadence of  _ huehuehue _ sobbing. "Woah.  _ Dude _ ." Even though Nathan's mind was still processing what to do, his hands seemed to know instinctively. They pulled Skwisgaar tighter, gripped his back in the spots they somehow knew would grant him the most support, rubbed gentle circles until the sobbing quieted down. 

"Ams. Sorries." He choked out, sniffing hard. His face was leaking all over Nathan's robe. Yeugh. "Just. Don'ts know h-hows. To deals-” And he broke into another round of sobs.

If there was one thing Nathan knew was true for both of them, it was that sometimes, words didn't come easy. And right now, the English language was failing Skwisgaar. Not because he didn't understand it- he did. But because there were no words that could  _ ever _ convey how he felt. Nathan completely understood. It had failed him in the same way too many times.

"You don't need to talk." Nathan's voice was a low whisper in Skwisgaar's ear. It seemed to soothe him, if only a little. He tried another tool- rocking him gently side to side, side to side, in a slow and hypnotic manner. The flow of tears slowed. The sniffles grew quieter and less frequent. The trembling stopped. Skwisgaar was a doll in his arms, limp with fatigue and weighted with emotion.

When he was sure Skwisgaar was stable, he let go and they sat down at the table. He knew he shouldn't have let Skwisgaar get so wasted. He also knew it wasn't just the alcohol doing the damage. It was his icy and distant mother who was to blame. In that moment, Nathan's anger was directed at her instead of his own mom, red hot and clenched in his fists. 

"I amn'ts lookinks forwards to de weddings no more," said Skwisgaar, angling his legs toward Nathan. 

"Me neither. Fuck that wedding. Fuck, man, why do our moms have to wreck everything?" 

"Tells me abouts it! My mom ams gonna embarrass mes. She's gonna ask why I never calls. Gonna says some shits like "Skwisgaar, why don't you haves a gorlfriends?" Eugh!" 

Nathan's eyes went wide. "Yes, oh my god. Your mom does that, too? Mine is always fucking _on_ me about it. I'll never hear the end of it. And this time, she has a couple to _ compare _ me to." 

"Ja! Exactlies what I ams panickings about!" Skwisgaar ran a hand through his hair. Even drunk and stressed out and puffy-eyed from crying, he looked handsome. Like one of those pictures of a rock star you’d find in some trashy gossip magazine, under the headline ‘Exposed!’. Nathan shook his head. That had to be the booze talking. He floated back to the fridge and grabbed himself another one, chugging about a quarter when he sat back down. Skwisgaar snuck another sip of vodka, then a stronger one. 

So, they were both in the same predicament. About to be shamed by their mothers at their friends' wedding and dreading it. It was almost like there had to be a common solution…

A funny idea came into Nathan's head. Just for a second, it made sense.

"What ams you smilings about?" 

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "What? I'm not  _ smiling _ ?" Yeah he was. "Alright fine. You wanna hear something reeeaaally dumb?" He slurred.

Skwisgaar shrugged. "Tells me." 

Nathan needed a second to think, to work out the details. Him, Skwisgaar, their moms- yeah, it all worked out. And it was fool proof. It had to work. Maybe it wasn't that stupid after all.

"Okay. So me and you. We're both stressed out because we don't have a date to this thing right?" 

"Ja. Because our moms will be dildos abouts it."

"Right. Yeah. So what if, I dunno, and we don't have to I'm just  _ saying _ \- what if we went, y'know. Together? And pretended to be each other's date?"

He could see the gears turning behind Skwisgaar’s eyes. Like he was working out the same equation Nathan just had: Nathan plus Skwisgaar equals motherly approval, and the “pretend” factor cancels out the “gay” factor. It added up.

“Oh. Waits. Dat acktuallies might works.”

“Pshh hell yeah it’ll work! Am I genius, or what?” Nathan was really proud of himself. It was so simple, yet so  _ smart _ . Their mothers would totally be none the wiser. He put his hand up for a high-five. Skwisgaar smacked it.

“Ja! You really just crackeds de codes!”

There was a moment of them both smiling at each other. Nathan cracked first, and they laughed like idiots. It wasn’t clear who initiated it, but soon they were in a tight hug.

“I think we’re gonna be fine, dude. We can tell our moms to fuck off. Without. Actually saying that. I wouldn’t say that to my mom.”

Skwisgaar swayed in his grasp, drunk and happy and probably too foggy to think about his own mother. “Jaaa,” he sang. “We will bes fiiines. And I’m happy to does it wit’ yous.”

Nathan hummed. He was, too.

  
  
  


The 12:00 pm meeting the following day came too early. Nathan was sober and everything sucked again. Their  _ parents _ were coming.

Although he and Skwisgaar had made a deal, that didn’t mean the problem went away. There were still going to be some very awkward conversations. And Nathan couldn’t stop wondering about Toki- how was he doing with all of this? His father was gone, and all he had left was his mother. But how were things between them? Judging by the plate of pancakes sitting untouched on Toki’s place, and the man’s vacant stare, things were not so good.

“You gots to eats, Toki.” Skwisgaar leaned over the table with his fork. He stabbed a bit off Toki’s pancake, drowned it in a puddle of syrup, and shoved it toward Toki’s mouth. It went in, but Toki wouldn’t chew it. Skwisgaar sat back with a sigh. “Toki, please,” he whispered, more to himself.

Skwisgaar cared so fucking hard it made Nathan’s heart swell in the least brutal way. Unless that meant his heart was going to explode- yeah, that would be brutal AF. He thought of saying something but found himself stuck. There was like, some kind of weird barrier between them this morning. Before he could dwell on it further, Charles appeared and took up his position. Pickles stood by him. 

“Good morning, boys,” Charles said. He looked slightly disheveled. His glasses were slightly crooked and some of his hair fell out of its gelled back do. 

“Rough night?” Murderface teased.

The CFO sighed. “Long night. Ah, anyway, as you all know, today is the invite deadline. Tell us you’re bringing or uh, forever hold your peace, heheh." He cleared his throat.

No one wanted to speak first.

“Alright, I’ll take one for the team!” Murderface said. “I have no date. None. Zippo. I had to turn ‘em all down. You know why? Becausche I’ve got a  _ very schpecial job _ to do that night! I’m on the decorating committee.”

Pickles dragged his hand over his face. “Murderface yer naht- I told you we already gaht that shit figured out. We gaht Klokateers to do that for us. Please stahp meddlin' with it.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been working with them! Don’t worry about me, Picklesch. We’ve got it all sorted out, no problemo.”

There was a silence between the two. Pickles stared, trying to wipe the determined grin off the bassist’s face to no avail.

“Ah, Toki? You uh, you in there?” Charles asked, clicking his pen.

It was as if you could hear the air passing through Toki’s ears, like a gust of wind blowing through the Scandes.

“Alright then. Nathan?” He tried again.

Nathan looked like his teacher just called on him and he didn’t have his book out. “Uh! Let me think!” He hated being put on the spot. 

“Me and Nathans ams acktuallies goings together,” Skwisgaar said cooly.

Charles looked at the two, confused. “But you’re both already invited to the wedding. Am I misunderstanding something?”

“What uh, Skwisgaar’s trying to say is, uh, he’s my date. My  _ fake _ date. See, we’re doing this thing for our moms and…” he trailed off. He could tell this wasn't coming out right. Nathan cowered from Pickles’ shocked stare and Murderface started to laugh.

“Holy schit! I called it! I  _ knew _ Skwisch wasch gay!”

Skwisgaar sat up. “I’ms not gay! You ams missings de point. We’s only  _ fakes _ togedders- not for reals. Pfft. You t’inks I woulds really dates Nathan? Gets real.”

Ouch. That was a low blow. Skwisgaar didn’t seem to realize it, but Nathan felt it in his gut, and he was pretty sure everyone else noticed. If this was fake, was that supposed to hurt so bad? He felt sick.

The room went quiet for a bit.

“Ah, anyway, congratulations on… whatever,” Charles said, still clearly confused, as he crossed their names off his clipboard. “Alrighty then- Murderface, Nathan and Skwisgaar are accounted for, and I think it’s safe to assume that ah, Toki’s not inviting anyone at this point…” he mumbled, crossing out the rest of the names. “Well. That went surprisingly easy. Thanks for your cooperation. For the most part.”

“I think we should do something about Toki, look at ‘im,” Pickles said, pointing. He hadn’t moved, and his pancakes were soggy where the syrup had soaked into them. “He’s naht eatin’, naht talkin’- I dunno what to do but we can’t just  _ leave _ him like that.”

“Mhm,” Charles nodded. “I’ll book him an appointment with Dr. Twinkletits. Would you mind ah, helping me move him?”

“Sure.”

So the two got to work, Charles pulling out his Dethphone and wandering out of the room without so much as a final statement, and Pickles following after, walking Toki out. It was just the three of them left.

“Welp- I’ve got schome big decorating schtuff to work on. Y’know, juscht schetting the mood for the entire night. Nothing big!”

“That’s cool,” Nathan deadpanned. “See ya.” 

Murderface’s moustache twitched up in a sly smile. “Oh, I get the hint. You want me gone so you can be alone with Skwischgaar. No, I get it. I’ll leave you two loversch to it! Your secret’sch schafe with me!”

Nathan’s boot connecting with the ground resonated off the walls, and Murderface skittered away.

Now it really was just the two of them.

Nathan folded his hands in his lap, not sure what to do with them. He’d finished his plate of bacon and eggs. (He’d gotten to thank Jean-Pierre earlier today- he was happy he remembered to.) The glass of orange juice was drained as well. And the elephant in the room was just sitting there, waiting to be addressed.

The plinking of guitar strings caught Nathan’s ear. He clamped his hand around the neck, muting the sound and stopping Skwisgaar’s fingers dead in their tracks.

“Um. Nathans. You ams mutings my guitars.”

“Yeah. I know.” 

Nathan stared him down until the eye contact became too intense. He could never win a staring contest (Toki was in fact the reigning champion.) Silence grew like weeds between them, and Nathan could feel the metal of the higher strings digging into his fingers, so he let go, expecting to Skwisgaar to keep playing away.

Skwisgaar put the Explorer down.

“Did I do somet’ings wrong?” He asked, eyes searching Nathan’s face for the answer.

“Did you mean what you said earlier- that you wouldn’t date me? Hypothetically?” It sounded petty coming out of his mouth but he couldn’t stop it.

Skwisgaar’s bottom lip fell. “Waits- dat’s what dis ams about? Nathans, I just says dat so Mordorface would fucks off.’

Nathan swallowed. “Yeah, but did you mean it? Are you really that… repulsed by me?”

“I amnt’s  _ repulsed _ -”

“You  _ sounded _ repulsed.” Nathan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t know why he even brought this up. “I- nevermind. It’s not like we’re real-dating or anything. I’m sure I would have said the same thing.” He pushed out of his chair and stood up. If he didn’t get out of here soon he was going to start crying, and he couldn’t do that. Drunk crying could be lived down. But this had no excuse other than emotions and he  _ really _ didn’t want to have to explain himself. 

“Nathan, waits-” Skwisgaar called. Nathan walked faster. So Skwisgaar ran. Nathan wasn’t running, because fuck that, so he stopped and turned around, hastily swiping at his wet eyes.

“ _ What? _ ” 

Skwisgaar bit his lip. “I’m sorries. And I didn’ts means it. I wouldn’ts have gone along with dis if I did, you big dildos.”

Nathan opened his mouth to say something but Skwisgaar speed-walked past him out the door. Now it was just him. Well. That wasn’t the _worst_ _way_ things could have gone. Getting the answer he’d wanted to hear left him just as confused as before.

  
  
  
  
  
  


There were three days left until the wedding, and things were really starting to wind up. Pickles was so stressed you would think he was trying to quit drinking again. He fussed over every detail of the big day ahead, and sometimes this led to him being short and snappy with the rest of the band. They acted like this didn’t bother them. It was more funny than anything, and they snickered behind his back about it. The truth was, Nathan had so much love in his heart for Pickles. That was his _best friend in the whole world_. But he was being a huge bitch, and they were allowed to laugh about it. 

While album-matters were momentarily put on hold (which was creating an economical domino-effect outside of Mordhaus that Nathan couldn’t really grasp the logistics of), Charles was running around trying to get everything in order. He was still the captain of this ship, after all. At any moment, he could be found on the phone with somebody, or giving a group of Klokateers an order. And illusive as he was as he ran through the Haus doing this, every time Nathan  _ did _ see him, he looked a little worse for wear. His hair was a little more disheveled; his tie a little more crooked; his collar a little more bent. But Charles managed to keep it together. He’d been through worse.

Murderface was rushing around too, but nobody really knew what he was up to. He was vague about it when asked. The most Nathan could get out of him after stopping him one time in the hall was that he was “working on a masterpiece” and that he didn’t “have time to sit and talk”. Nathan just wrote it off as another dumb Murderface side project and let him have his fun. It couldn’t actually be  _ dangerous _ \- Charles had too tight of a grip on things. 

After a few days of intense therapy sessions, Toki was responsive again. This of course was a huge relief to everyone. Nathan and Skwisgaar were especially happy to have him back, and he got a hug from everyone. No one dared to ask him anything that might send him back into that state. There was a silent agreement in effect not to bring up the parent situation at meetings. No one opposed it.

In the meantime, Nathan and Skwisgaar worked on refining their act. They only had a few days to work out all the little details.

They were in Nathan’s room, sitting cross-legged across from each other on his giant bed, a sea of mattress between them. 

"Sos. How far ams we gonna takes dis?” Skwisgaar asked. So far they had planned this much: they would arrive together (obviously), sit together during the ceremony, and find a way to sprinkle the fact that they were ”””dating””” (multiple air-quotes used) into conversation with their folks. But  _ then _ what? That’s what Skwisgaar was asking- how were they going to  _ sell _ this thing?

Nathan had no idea. “How far do  _ you _ wanna take it?” He asked. Skwisgaar shot him a disapproving look for turning the question back around on him, which was fair, and Nathan thought hard. He hesitated. “Maybe if we uhhh, held hands once, that would be convincing. I mean, right?”

“Ja, dat woulds works,” Skwisgaar agreed. “And I was t’inkings… what if we stayeds togedders de whole times, likes eughhh real couple? Like Pickle and Charles.”

Having them compared to the soon-to-be-wed couple gave Nathan goosebumps.

“Oh, yeah definitely. I thought that was a given.” Skwisgaar just nodded. At least they were on the same page.

It was quiet, and both of them were thinking. Nathan racked his brain for ways they could up the ante. Images that were too soft for his brutal heart to allow started to flood his mind. What if they held hands  more than once? What if they hugged? What if they _kissed_ \- surely that was too far?

Skwisgaar’s lips looked awfully soft. Nathan didn’t know how long he’d been staring at them.

“What if we danced?” He asked abruptly, looking away. He hoped he wasn’t caught. 

Those pale blue eyes twinkled. “You’s askings me to dance?”

Nathan rubbed his neck. “I guess. Yeah. People do that at weddings, right? I mean I think that’s mostly what. People do. Anyway. It’s just if you want to.” There was a pause. He really had to ask him, huh? “Do you-”

“Ja.” Skwisgaar beamed. Nathan was relieved. He didn’t expect Skwisgaar to look so happy about it.

“Good. Then uh, I guess that’s all. All I can think of.” A lie.

“Me toos!” Skwisgaar said too quickly. Probably also a lie. 

Silence stretched out like a cat and overstayed its welcome. They were done here. Skwisgaar could leave, but neither of them moved. Soon enough, it turned into a comfortable silence- the kind they both enjoyed. Skwisgaar lounged on the bed. He could sprawl out with his guitar and Nathan still had ample room. They could fit five bandmates in there, hypothetically. 

The sound of page turning and string-plucking made a song that filled the quiet space. This was how things  _ usually _ were between them. It was nice they got to hang out like this again, just quietly enjoying each other’s company. 

Those soft thoughts kept coming back to Nathan, however. They were borderline intrusive. It felt  _ rude _ to imagine himself holding Skwisgaar’s hips, swaying with him as they danced, leaning in for a kiss when he was sure no one was looking, savouring it- when the man was barely five feet away from him. Skwisgaar looked so unaware, so zoned in on his instrument, that Nathan wasn’t worried he picked up on these thoughts. Still: he wasn’t supposed to think like that about his friend. Just because they were _pretending_ to be gay didn’t mean he had the right to think gay thoughts about Skwisgaar’s mouth  unprompted . So like, what was up with that?

A particularly fast scale disrupted Nathan’s train of thought. He dog-eared the page he was on, closed the book and looked over. Skwisgaar was ripping through scales now, staring holes in the wall. It was as if the man himself emitted tense, high-pitched frequencies. Something was wrong. 

“Skwisgaar,” he said, no answer. He shook his shoulder lightly. Nothing. He reached over. This time, instead of muting the strings, Nathan stopped Skwisgaar’s fretting hand with his own. He held it. Finally, he had Skwisgaar’s attention. 

“Nathans?” he asked meekly.

“Yeah. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” 

Skwisgaar took a deep breath. “Ams t’inkings about Týr.”

Nathan looked surprised. “Oh, yeah?” He wasn’t sure what to say; it had been a while since he heard that name. 

“I know it ams silly buts… I beens hopings he mights come withs my moms to de wedding.”

Nathan shifted his weight, propping himself up on his elbow to face Skwisgaar. “I don’t think that’s silly. Not even a little bit. I’d want my dad to come too-” He stopped the sentence in its tracks, albeit a moment too late, and bit his tongue. That was a stupid thing to say.

“Your dad  _ ams  _ coming,” Skwisgaar pointed out with a frown.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” he said in lieu of an apology. Apologies were hard on him, and Skwisgaar knew that. He sighed.

“I knows. I just… hopes he comes back. I misses him, you knows? He was de closest t’ing I ever hads to a fathers.” Nathan nodded. He thought back to Skwisgaar in Sweden again, to how comfortable he had been with Týr, before it was all taken away from him again. 

He still hadn’t let go of Skwisgaar’s hand. Aware of this, he took a risk and rubbed small circles on the inside of his palm with his thumb. Skwisgaar closed his eyes and let him. Nathan exhaled: it was like nailing a harmony in the studio on the very first try. It felt natural, and it was a relief not to have to change things. They stayed like that for a while, unspoken understanding and gentle caresses creating a wordless conversation. A different kind of song.

Skwisgaar hummed amusedly to himself.

“Hmm?” Nathan asked.

Skwisgaar tapped his fingers on Nathan’s hand. “Dis ams good practice.”


End file.
